


The "Lesser" Love

by WrynnsBlade



Category: Xī yóu jì | Journey to the West - Wú Cheng'en, 西遊 | Journey to the West (Chow Movies)
Genre: Character Death, Fumbling, M/M, Mental Instability, Seduction, Suicide mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-08 04:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17379449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrynnsBlade/pseuds/WrynnsBlade
Summary: It started at the cave, this slow dance of seduction.





	1. Chapter 1

            Did it really matter which form he took these days? Human, monkey, something in between? The lashes he received stayed the same with each attempt at escape. The pain kept him attached to his body. The temptation of freedom kept him present in mind. And the outside world teased at his emotions. He was thoroughly secured to this hellhole of a prison, and WuKong couldn’t bring himself to do much else aside from practice patience and whatever magics his old teacher had taught him. But his patience was thin, and the magics he drilled into his mind were cemented.

            Counting the days, the droplets of rain that dribble in through the hole, and the attempts he’d made to escape were the only things keeping the social monkey sane. He wasn’t sure exactly when, but he _felt_ it. Change was going to occur soon. Change was going to occur, and he could taste freedom gracing his lips, his tongue with its sweet siren spell. Freedom made him practically giddy, and though he was never a patient sort, WuKong thinks he can wait out what the change would bring.

            When a filthy, awkward looking creature dropped into his hellhole, WuKong hung back a bit. He wanted to see what it was that would set him free. And once he sees a _human_ —a gloriously _stupid_ human—he could hardly contain himself as he takes a step forward to let the human glance at him. Filthy, clothed in ratty looking apprentice robes, WuKong could see fair skin under all that grime and dirt. Impressive, if he’d travelled as far as what he looked.

            When Sanzang drops into the hole, he feels especially proud of himself. He’d successfully gotten here with little trouble! No demons, no bandits, nothing! Now he could seek the help of Demon King Sun and hopefully eradicate the problem of the Pig Demon. What he doesn’t expect is a youthful looking male stepping out to greet him. What he _also_ didn’t expect is the same male pouncing on top of him, hands gripping at his clothes in a desperate manner as the male inspects him, quiet praises on his lips.

            But truthfully, it’s not like he could say much. Not when those same hands, thin with long tapered fingers, grip at his face. “Mister Sun--?!” The kiss is firm, grateful and feels like electricity jumping down his spine. Sanzang hadn’t been kissed before, and such a feeling made him dizzy. It left temptation in its wake, to abandon his mission of Greater Love in the face of pursuing lesser love. _Why hadn’t he felt this way when he was with Duan?_  It leaves Sanzang disorientated as this supposed Demon King scoops him up and spins him in circles, shouting incoherently before setting him down.

            “Sit, sit!” And he’s pushed towards a rough looking table. This was the man he was supposed to see? Wasn’t he supposed to be a monkey? But Sanzang couldn’t grasp those thoughts, the very basis of them slipping from his fingertips as he stares blankly at the pleased looking male in front of him. They appeared similar, though Demon King Sun’s skin appeared darker. Much darker than the fair skin of Sanzang, the priest wonders briefly if all of him was such a dark shade before that thought too slips away. “You are quite handsome, your name?”

            “Sanzang. I ah… I came to seek your council on a demon Pig.”

            “Zhu BaJie? Ah, he can’t keep his snout of trouble too long, can he?” And the conversation continues on, as if WuKong hadn’t kissed him so firmly, so gratefully on the mouth. Perhaps, then, if he can slide it behind them, Sanzang could follow suit. Debating tactics, discussing strategies, it seemed as though they were at an impasse. At least until Duan dropped in. Granted, when she dropped in, it was when WuKong was busy peeling a banana, and Sanzang was posed almost erotically.

            “I didn’t mean to interrupt—” She says this awkwardly, seeing the two sitting side by side, Sanzang’s clothes pulled to the side as WuKong stares at him amusedly.

            “ _It’s just a banana!_ ” Sanzang gets up, adjusting himself. He’s dismissing his attempts to appear more like a female, and for that WuKong was a touch grateful. If **he’d** dropped into such a conversation, he was sure that he was being seduced. Perhaps getting out would be easier than he’d thought! Duan was being scolded, and WuKong finds a time to intervene, convincing the monk to allow her to help. It was the _very_ least he could do, right? She was terribly beautiful.

            Teaching her to dance was a game to WuKong. He wasn’t a terribly good dancer to begin with, but he _knew_ this one well enough to teach it. Truthfully, it was enjoyable to teach the clumsy, driven girl to dance. And the look on the monks face? Was worth every second doing it. “Come, _Sanzang_ ,” he drawls out. “Dance with us!” And the King shimmies over to him, dancing about the monk as if the monk had invited him to do so. Duan splutters and laughs, her laughter contagious and warm as he forces the monk to dance with him.

            _Could this be one of Mr. Sun’s tricks?_ Sanzang could only wonder this, being dragged about the cave by the silly King. He was warm, too much so, and Sanzang can see a glimpse of skin hiding just from view under the loose robe WuKong wore. It revealed to the poor monk that the fallen King’s dark skin continued further down. Sanzang felt the urge to explore further, to touch such foreign skin and compare it to his own. He was quickly being charmed by this dark haired, incredibly handsome male disguised as a human. It was overwhelming.

            Sun seemed to dance to a song only he could hear, and with the impish grin curling the male’s lips, Sanzang could feel that electrifying feeling sliding down his spine once more. He needed to get some distance, to pull from this maddening dance. “Th-that’s enough for now, please!” And Mr. Sun finally stopped, chuckling and sighing. Picking up the banana he’d previously discarded, WuKong gestures for them to go up. It was time to implement their plan. And truthfully? He could only half remember it now.


	2. Chapter 2

            Has it been months? Years? He wasn’t too sure anymore. The dream of when they first met still lingers in the back of his mind. And truthfully, his first disciple hasn’t changed since then. WuKong still did as he pleased. He still flirted with the monk shamelessly, embarrassing Sanzang terribly at the worst of times. It was just how the monkey was. Charismatic, courageous, and always the center of attention, the King never stopped being a King. “Master,” comes the familiar drawl. Sanzang doesn’t jerk, finding that he doesn’t startle when WuKong draws him back to reality. _He always has a knack of knowing when I’m too deep in thought_. “There’s a village up ahead. There won’t be another one for some time. We should stock up on supplies and rest for a day or two before we continue forward.”

            Sanzang dips his head, considering his options. “How much further until we reach the West, Pilgrim Sun?” He asks this, but truthfully, he was unsure of how he felt about being closer to his goals. The monkey stops, prompting the horse to pause, and the rest of their group to come to a halt. Turning, he stares at his master with his lips twisted. He was thinking, guessing at a time frame for a man that knew quite well they were most likely not even the slightest bit close to finishing their journey.

            “We’re closer than where we began, but we still have quite a ways to go, Master.” He says this, and nods to himself. Perhaps even WuKong wasn’t sure how much further they had to go. But then, he turns, his staff shifting carelessly on his shoulders as they trudge forward. Or he was just as confident as always, and didn’t want to reveal too much about the journey ahead. Pushing the group only worked for so long. Pigsy would get antsy and start bickering with WuKong, and WuKong would immediately join in the bickering, happily engaging his brother in an effort to win. And WuJing would be angrily huffing and puffing about how much work he was doing in comparison.

            The village is in the midst of a celebration, one that allowed the pilgrims to eat and drink their fill. Finding an inn to stay at was a simple task, and because they were passing through, they were given it cheaply. But by the time they finally reached the rooms, Pigsy was slurring his words, tripping over WuJing. WuJing was struggling to drag himself and the Pig to bed, far too drunk to be concerned about being proper. Even as the Pig was thrown into the sleeping mat, WuJing merely crumpled onto his own mat. Sanzang watched this with an amused expression before realizing that he was missing one particularly important disciple.

            When he finds him, WuKong was drinking through another pot. Not cup. Not small jar. A pot of alcohol. By himself. “Bad monkey!” Sanzang scolds him, trying to remove the damned thing from his grip. But WuKong holds tight and it tilts further up, the alcohol not even spilling by a drop as the monkey drinks. It’s only when he finishes that the monk can remove the awkwardly heavy pot from his grip. WuKong hiccups, belches, and staggers to his feet. When he manages to stand, he _sways_ , a drunken sort of dance as he saunters towards the room.

            Sanzang follows, displeased that his disciple is just so damned _drunk_ , but WuKong didn’t seem to care. Matter of fact, he seemed blissfully unaware that his master was angry. Reaching the room, WuKong pauses inside, drunkenly swaying back and forth. Sanzang, thinking that the iron-hide ape would fall, reaches for the monkey in concern. He doesn’t expect the hand that grabs him, tugging him close. “ _WuKong_!” Is the only thing hissed from the monk.

            He smells of alcohol. And stinks of cinnamon, as if the monkey had nothing better to do than roll in the spice. Faintly, Sanzang smells something burnt, but is unsure of why or where it’s coming from. WuKong dashes away the thoughts, tugging the monk closer still. When the King stands at his full height, he towers over Sanzang by at least a head. It makes the monk shudder just a bit, knowing that his disciple (who usually crouched lower than the monk) was so much taller. “You _smell_ funny.” Childish and sincere, the monkey lowers his head close to the monk.

            It’s strange, he thinks, to be sniffed. The feeling tickles, and try as he might, he’s unable to find the strength to bother breaking from his disciple’s grasp. Instead, the monk is flabbergasted. How was he to proceed? How was he supposed to handle his monkey’s odd behavior? He doesn’t react until he feels the terribly _odd_ and most definitely **wet** sensation dragging across his neck. Sandpapery and _warm_ , it leaves the monk shivering and startled all at once. “ _Bad_ monkey!” Sanzang hisses, beginning to shove at the drunk ape that deemed it completely necessary to start _licking_ his master. “What are you _doing_?”

            “You _taste_ funny.” Is the only response, a quiet grumble from the king. But he begins to sway again, and Sanzang realizes that they were _dancing_. It was more intimate than the first time the monkey had danced with him, and he couldn’t find the words to ask his disciple to stop. Then again, he wasn’t even sure if he _wanted_ the monkey to stop, curious to see where this would lead them. When the monkey feels as though he was done, the dancing slows to a stop. “You smell like flowers, but you taste like _salt_. What a weird human.”

            Sanzang, spluttering and unable to respond, feels WuKong begin to lower them down. The sleeping mat is under them, and the monk is so flustered that he couldn’t even protest as the monkey curls around him. Drunk, warm, and having a companion, the King quickly slips to a deep sleep. When WuKong begins to snore, Sanzang can only stare at the ceiling with absolute confusion. He was getting too warm, too comfortable, and the vibrating snores were soothing to the monk. Before he drifts off into rest, Sanzang makes a small mental note: WuKong was _overly_ affectionate and clingy when drunk. And he didn’t dislike that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WuKong's very drunk idea is: If you smell like a flower and taste like a flower, I might bite. But you only smelled like a flower, and tasted of salt. The combination was so strange to him that he decided against the idea.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mental health: There is a mention of a minor character [who is not apart of JTTW] that committed suicide. She was mentally unwell, and due to this, it starts talks between WuKong and Sanzang about relationships.

            Sun WuKong wonders at when their journey would end. At times, he tells his master that it would be soon. Other times, he’s purposely vague as he knows the truth would make Sanzang distraught. _It feels like we travel forward two miles only to back slide three._ And with all the demons that have crossing their paths, he was starting to feel a bit antsy. “Pilgrim Sun,” his master intones. A forked ear flicks towards the sound, but he doesn’t turn his head yet. His master already knew he was listening.

            Most days now, he can breathe in sync with the man without realizing it. He could usually guess what was on his masters mind before it was even voiced aloud, and this time was no different. “I’ll scout ahead.” He had a rather sinking feeling that something was about to happen. And he didn’t like the feeling it brought to his chest. But he summons his cloud, mounts it and flies upwards and forwards. Even using his fiery golden gaze, he could find nothing amiss in the forest ahead. It wasn’t overly dense, and nor was it impossible to sort through.

            But he does notice something odd. The _thorns_ that gather along the edges of trees, their barbs  appearing as though they were dipped in hues of damson plums, unsettled him most. Taking his time, he searches the forest for a way to go around the thorns, and there appears a path to navigate around them at least. But the appearance of the thorns bothered the King so badly that even when he finally returned to his Master hours later, the monk immediately cries, “ _Pilgrim Sun!_ What’s happened? You’ve lost your face!”

            Touching his face, WuKong realizes that he did indeed lose the human guise he usually kept for appearances. When did that occur, he wonders. “Never mind about that, Master!” Something about the thorns truly bothered WuKong, and he couldn’t place exactly what it was. “There’s a way through the forest, but there are _thorns_. There’s a path through them but…” How could the monkey articulate that just _looking_ at them made him break out into a sweat? How could he say that the appearance of them made the monkey shake, his heart race? He wasn’t even sure _why_.

            Tripitaka takes a moment. He’s poised, calm and collected. _Measuring_ , strategizing, this was the monk the King rarely saw. This was the monk he follows. The one that would dive into Hell head first if it meant getting closer to the end of his journey. Pigsy and Sandy seemed to understand this too, straightening up. “Were there no demons?” Pigsy asks this tentatively, his eyes concerned and his voice soft. He didn’t understand why his eldest brother was so unnerved. The old Monkey did not scare easy.

            “If there were demons, don’t you think he would’ve mentioned it?” Sandy bluntly says this. And he looks to WuKong, his yellow eyes narrowed. “These _thorns_ … What color were they, big brother?” Sandy, for all intents and purposes, seemed to show a side of himself that was also rarely shown. Sun WuKong quickly describes the thorns to the best of his ability, his fingers scratching at his chin and neck. He was _nervous_. Sha Monk nods, his mouth turning into a deep frown. It tickled at his memory for a moment before he realizes exactly what they were walking into. The realization shows on his face.

            “You know of these thorns, WuJing?” Tripitaka asks this, quiet and calm. There were times that the youngest of his disciples forgets to speak, and requires a gentle prompt to share. WuJing nods, and when he looks to the side, they can see the thorns—in far fewer amounts than what WuKong had seen—gathered at the base of the bushes. WuJing marches over and with a quick hand he snatches up part of the thorns to show the group.

            The off-putting shade of purple makes Pilgrim Sun cringe. Bajie shifts away, now feeling uncomfortable. And Tripitaka has to take in a deep breath to control the sudden shaking that takes over his limbs. “When we traverse through these woods,” he intones. “Steel yourselves for these thorns, brothers and Master. Keep one thing in mind and one thing only. They are remnants of a demon long since dead, one that terrorized the Heavens far worse than what elder brother had done, though not to the extent he’d gone. Thankfully, Guanyin was around to take care of the problem before it got out of control, and it’d been contained to what’s known now as the forbidden gardens in the Heavenly palace.”

            Pointing at the barbs, WuJing goes on to explain that the demon was originally a human woman who was hung by the thorns she’d gathered from bushes near her home. She died, doubt and fear and pain tearing at her heart before her breath stopped. Her mind had been all over the place, he mentions, and its conflict gave rise to a demon that fed off of a mind that wandered too much. “She was so worried over her husband cheating and replacing her with a mistress, that she wasn’t running the home well enough, that she didn’t pay enough attention to him that it overcame her.”And because her grievances never died, her worry and conflicted emotions crafted the demon after her demise.

            WuKong inches closer, inspecting the thorns that caused him a small amount of grief. “And these thorns,” he drawls. “Must’ve wound up everyone that went near them, making them go mad. No wonder Guanyin was able to make it stop.” Pausing, he frowns. His shoulders fall just a bit, and Sanzang’s eyes quietly shift to his eldest disciple. Usually he didn’t have to prompt the normally chatty monkey. But now, he can see WuKong struggling with something as if he were unsure to voice it.

            Fingers reach out and he clasps WuKong on the shoulder. The monkey doesn’t lean into the touch, but he doesn’t pull away either. “Humans are a complicated sort,” the monk murmurs. “And it must be hard for you demons to understand why someone would take their life under such circumstances.” Gingerly, he takes the thorns from his youngest disciple. The purple hue seems to dull in Tripitaka’s hands, the human’s complicated mind centering itself. “Like monkeys, we’re a social sort. Communities are how we thrive. It takes a village to raise one child. But everyone forgets about the adults, so busy are we with our own lives. Perhaps it takes a village to raise up one adult then, too.”

            “I just don’t understand,” WuKong interrupts. “Why not reach out? Why not ask her family for help? Why not talk to her husband?” Mates, he thinks, were similar enough to marriage, right? From what he’d seen, they were always soft on each other, talking constantly at home. _Communication_ was critical in every aspect of running a troop. Why didn’t humans feel the same if they were so similar?

            “It’s not like that in most marriages, WuKong,” Sanzang chides. “They’re political. They’re a bribe. They’re a guarantee for a child living a better life sometimes. They don’t keep the wife in mind. She’s just a pawn in the scheme of things.” This seems to shock the monkey. And when he flinches away from the monk’s hand, he can see the hurt, the astonishment in the monkey’s face. Had the King truly gone so ignorant to the marriages filled with pain? The marriages that were nothing more than a sale for better lineage?

            Pigsy suddenly tugs on Sha Monk, and they step to the side once the fish sees BaJie’s pursed lips. “Demons,” WuKong states, “treat mates and wives differently. Even if it is political. Even if it’s to end feuds or to bargain. They _speak_ to each other. They _communicate_ if they aren’t happy. Most times a wife doesn’t move out of her parent’s house until she feels comfortable enough in her husband’s home. It doesn’t take long, but they’re _talking_ every day so he can make her come _home_.”

            Sanzang takes a moment to digest the information. And understands why such communication is important between two demons rather than humans. Humans don’t expect to be hunted. Humans are comfortable with their lifestyles. Demons were nomadic, and the few that settle down are threatened with the potential of humans coming into their territory. To live so simply, to live as predator and prey, to love openly and thoroughly as though each day might be their last, to make something _work_ between them even if they don’t love each other. “Then when we retrieve the sutras,” Sanzang slowly says. “And complete our journey, you can show me more of this.”

            The monk knows what he’s said. And he knows what WuKong really wants from him, what the monkey so desperately was trying to create. He was making something familiar, something that he knew between lovers and trying to apply it to a human. It would explain why the King was touching him, chatting up a storm, carefully calculating what it would take to sway the monk “home.”

            It’s a promise. It’s the most solid thing that WuKong has come across from Tripitaka. And he understands that perhaps it meant more to him than it did the monk. He’s alright with that. “I will,” he agrees. Neither of them seem troubled by the change of color in the thorns, and neither of them seem to notice when the group reforms. Pigsy hangs back with Sha Monk as they begin travelling forward, tilting his head towards the thorny vines that litter the forest. Half of the thorns are now a delicate golden color, as if the poisonous thoughts from one human were now purified. But the damson plum color remained on the other half as a reminder.

            WuJing nods, pleased. “With a goal set in mind,” he murmurs lowly to his elder brother. “Are you really surprised that those two would change Lin’s lingering thoughts?” He snorts. “If those two communicated any better, I’m sure we’ll be by Buddha’s temple in a week.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I mentioned that GuanYin "took care of the problem," no one knew exactly what she did. Because she had a calm mind, she was able to remain unaffected by the thorns overtaking the garden, and confronted the demoness. Because she is the Goddess of Mercy, she understood that the demon just needed to someone to trust and talk to. Once that was done, the demon was able to move onto her next life peacefully.

**Author's Note:**

> To be perfectly honest, WuKong has been dancing around with this thought inside my head almost as much as he was dancing with Sanzang. And unfortunately, it'll be a while before he stops.


End file.
